The sun and the wind were arguing about which was the stronger. To settle the dispute, they decided to test their respective strength on a cloaked traveler below them, trudging along an open road.
First the wind tried. He blew upon the traveler, first gently, then harder and harder, trying to get the robe off him. But the harder he blew, the tighter the man clutched the robe to him.
Then the sun tried. As the walking man grew warmer and warmer, he finally removed his cloak and draped it over one arm.
I’m assuming that almost all of us heard that little story as kids. If you didn’t, you have now. It would be very easy at this point to drop into a political argument, pointing out the obvious futility of braggadocio and threats as opposed to a friendly approach to solving problems and disagreements. But in spite of its temptations, I’m not headed there. As my friend Bea and I often admit to each other after exhausting our fury at the latest news from the White House, “There’s no way any further outrage could lower our opinion of that person, so we may as well change the subject.”
No, this is rather about a little habit I’ve developed — rather like a nervous tic — that seems to brighten the air surrounding casual human encounters.
I was pretty shy as a kid and even as a young man. I don’t know why, exactly. Don’t even care much. But just about simultaneously, during a very low spot in the 1980s, I started writing my newspaper column and took a Dale Carnegie course. Both changed my life tremendously. For the first time in my life, I could take genuine happiness in meeting new people and chat without fearing I was perhaps sounding like a dolt. It became a pleasure to greet strangers on the street as we passed.
Now that with advancing antiquity I’ve developed what’s called “age-related disinhibition,” I’ve developed the ability to be insufferable (if I’m not careful). Rather than looking for friendly-looking faces to greet, I often look for frowns and mouths down-turned. It’s surprising how often a smile and a comment can lift both eyes and mouth into sunshine.
Recently a random Facebook post described a brilliant idea (rare in that wasteland of horrible opinions). It suggested that at least once a day each of us might make a positive remark to or about a stranger we just happen to pass. I’ve been trying it for about a year now. I have no idea whether it does any good (did Johnny Appleseed ever stick around to see if his seeds grow behind him?). But as the original suggestion noted, a sincere comment costs nothing and it can’t hurt. Quite the opposite. It can shrink the distance between us.
For example, a young woman with a couple of friends and ghastly green hair walks toward me. I know I can catch her eye; folks who do that to themselves are constantly looking at others’ faces to judge their impact. So I wait for the inevitable contact, point at her head, and mouth, “Love the hair!” Big smile and thanks. It cost me nothing. But it made somebody else feel better. And if perchance she happens to stop and chat briefly, I can point her toward “The Boy with Green Hair,” a 1945 film starring Dean Stockwell, whose message is the idiocy and waste of war.
Can any of us doubt that our world needs more love than hate, delight in each other than distrust? There’s a story of an elderly woman in flat-broke, post coal-mining Appalachia, where no one had money for anything. She set a big jar on the counter at the local general store, put a handful of seeds into it, and attached a note directing anyone who needed help or could help to drop in a few seeds or take some if they needed some to plant. That little gesture led to a community garden, shared produce and a revival of the community’s life in spite of the grinding poverty.
Like the war being fought in the skies above the marooned boys in “Lord of the Flies,” many of our problems are beyond our capacity to solve, or even address. But the tiny friendly gestures can go a long way toward that. Like the guy I spoke to last evening as he passed our restaurant table in a very strange shirt. He’ll probably never look at that shirt the same way again.
